Cruel Intentions: Chapter 31

Isit on the hood of my car, staring out at the lake. The water’s calm, reflecting the late afternoon sun, but it doesn’t do a fucking thing to quiet the storm inside me.

My phone is in my hand, the screen black, and I keep checking it every five minutes like some desperate idiot. But there’s nothing. No text. No missed call. No sign she’s even thinking about me right now.

Still, I don’t text her. I can’t.

I refuse to be that guy—the one begging for attention, asking if she’s staying or leaving. But the thought of going back to the house and finding it empty, finding her gone… It’s a knife straight to the chest, and it cuts deeper every time I think about it.

Hours. It’s been hours of this—of sitting here, watching the sun dip lower, convincing myself she’ll come back. That she won’t leave with her mom.

But the truth is… I don’t fucking know.

And that uncertainty? It’s tearing me apart, one piece at a time.

I rake a hand through my hair, gripping it like it’ll somehow loosen the tension that’s got this stranglehold on me. It doesn’t. My head’s a fucking disaster, thoughts ricocheting in every direction, each one worse than the last.

What if she chooses her mom? What if she decides to start over with her, to rebuild whatever they used to have? What if I’m not enough to make her stay?

The bitter laugh that slips out feels hollow, even to me.

Fucking pathetic. That’s what this is. Sitting here, unraveling over something I can’t control. Over some girl who might not be mine to keep.

But she is mine. At least, I want her to be.

Even now, when she’s not here and everything feels like it’s falling apart, I can’t let it end like it did last time. I can’t be the asshole who ghosted her, who left her wondering if I ever gave a shit. I won’t do that to her again.

The buzz of my phone jolts me, my heart leaping into my throat. I unlock it so fast I nearly drop it, but it’s not her.

Just some notification I couldn’t care less about. I toss the phone onto the hood, leaning back with a heavy sigh, my eyes fixed on the sky above me.

“Fuck,” I mutter, the word breaking the suffocating silence. It feels like I’m on the edge of something, teetering between waiting and breaking.

I don’t know how much longer I can sit here. I don’t want to go back—to walk through that door and find out she’s gone.

Because if she’s gone…

God, I don’t know what I’ll do.

The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the lake, its reflection on the water so serene it feels like a cruel joke.

It’s the kind of scene people write about, the kind that’s supposed to stir something, but right now, it’s just a cruel backdrop to the storm raging inside me.

I’ve been sitting here for hours, dragging out the inevitable. But I can’t do it anymore. It’s time to face it—whatever the fuck it is. I have to go home, to see if she’s still there or if she left, taking a piece of me with her.

The drive feels endless. Every mile stretches on forever, the road ahead blurring as the knot in my stomach tightens. Each second feels like it’s dragging me closer to my own execution.

When I finally pull into the driveway, the house looks exactly the same as it always does.

Quiet. Calm. Like nothing’s changed. But it doesn’t feel the same.

The air feels heavier, oppressive, like the house already knows something I don’t.

My heart pounds in my chest, erratic and frantic, and I hate it. I hate this fear—this uncertainty that has me frozen in place.

I kill the engine and sit there, my hands gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.

I’ve been in fights that left me battered, bruised, bleeding, but this? This is a different kind of pain. It’s the kind that doesn’t heal, that cuts deeper than fists or words ever could. The kind that leaves you gasping for air, feeling like you’ll never be whole again.

I force myself to breathe, to move. My boots crunch against the gravel as I climb out of the car, every step toward the front door heavier than the last, like gravity’s working against me.

When I open the door, my eyes instinctively dart to the spot by the entryway—the place where Aubrey always leaves her boots.

They’re not fucking there.

I freeze.

The sight hits me as if my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

She’s gone.

No message. No explanation. Just fucking… gone.

I step further into the house, every movement heavier than the last. The silence is deafening, pressing in like a living thing. Each room I pass feels emptier than the previous, as if her absence has sucked the life out of the space.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement.

I turn my head toward the back window, my gaze landing on the patio. There they are—my dad and Simone.

They’re sitting together, his chair tilted back as he listens to her talk. His face is relaxed, his posture easy, and then he smiles.

At least one of us is happy.

I linger there, watching them through the glass. My dad deserves this—deserves some kind of peace after everything he’s endured.

I tear my gaze away from the window, trying to swallow the pain, bury it where it can’t touch me, but it’s no use. It’s there, raw and relentless, clawing at me with every breath.

I don’t know if she’s coming back. And that thought, that’s the one that fucking breaks me.

My steps down the hallway are slow, every movement heavy like I’m trudging through quicksand. My head’s a mess, my chest tight, and each step feels like it’s leading me closer to the moment when my heart shatters completely.

I stop outside her door.

It’s cracked open slightly, not enough for me to see inside, but I don’t move. I can’t. My heart is pounding, my pulse loud in my ears, and the thought of seeing that room empty is almost enough to undo me.

But I force myself to breathe, to take one step forward, and then another.

My hand brushes the door, pushing it open just a fraction more, and my gaze locks on the room.

And there she is.

Aubrey’s sitting at her desk.

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

I stand there, frozen, half convinced my mind’s playing cruel tricks on me. But then she moves—her head tilting as her pencil glides across the page, completely absorbed in her sketchbook. She’s there, completely oblivious to the storm she’s left me drowning in.

It’s her.

It’s really fucking her.

Relief hits, so overwhelming my knees almost give out. My chest loosens, and for the first time in what feels like hours, I can finally fucking breathe.

My eyes sweep the room, needing proof that she’s not some mirage. Her bag’s leaning against the wall. Clothes are draped over the back of the chair. The bed is just as it was this morning, unmade and perfectly Aubrey.

She shifts in her chair, the soft movement catching my eye as the light glints off her hair. She’s so fucking beautiful, so completely her, that I can’t look away. It’s like she’s a magnet, pulling me in without even trying.

I don’t even realize I’m staring until she looks up, her eyes meeting mine.

A slow, easy smile spreads across her face, and just like that, the room isn’t so heavy anymore. She lights it up, the same way she always lights up something inside me.

“Noah?” she says softly, her voice cutting through the chaos in my head, pulling me back to solid ground.

I push off the doorway, my legs finally moving even though they feel like lead. My throat’s tight, and I shove my hands deep into my pockets because I don’t trust them not to fucking shake.

“Hey,” I manage to get out, my voice rough, low, like it’s all I’m capable of.

And just like that, everything I’ve been holding onto—the fragile, crumbling pieces of me—finally feels steady again.

She stayed.

She fucking stayed.

She chose me this time.

Her pencil hovers over the page, forgotten, as her eyes stay on me. Her smile softens, something quieter but just as warm.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, steady, like she doesn’t realize she’s the reason I am.

I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I say, my voice firmer now, but still raw. “I am now.”